Part 9 (1/2)

she added, gently despotic.

As Miss Wynne pa.s.sed by, the girl saw her courtesy, and, closing the door, said to herself, ”I think I could do it,” and fell to courtesying on the broad landing. ”I should like to do that for Friend Nicholas Waln,” and gaily laughing, she went out and down the garden to deliver her message to the young vicomte.

Neither man, woman nor the French tongue dismayed Mistress Wynne.

”_C'etait un long calembourg_, my son,” the vicomtesse said later--”a long conundrum, a long charade of words to represent _le bon Dieu_ knows what. Ah, a tonic, truly. I was amused as I am not often.” In fact, she was rarely receptively humorous and never productively so. Now she spoke slowly, in order to be understood, comprehending the big woman and knowing her at once for a lady of her own world with no provincial drawbacks, a woman at her ease, and serenely unconscious of, or indifferent to, the quality of the astounding tongue in which she spoke.

She talked of London and of the French emigrant n.o.bles in Philadelphia, of the Marquis de la Garde, who taught dancing; of the Comte du Vallon, who gave lessons in fencing; of De Malerive, who made ice-cream. Madame, interested, questioned her until they got upon unhappy France, when she s.h.i.+fted the talk and spoke of the kindness of Mr. Wynne.

”It will soon be too hot here,” said Gainor, ”and then I shall have you at the Hill--Chestnut Hill, and in a week I shall come for you to ride in my landau,”--there were only four in the city,--”and the vicomte shall drive with you next Sat.u.r.day. You may not know that my niece Mrs.

Wynne was of French Quakers from the Midi, and this is why her son loves your people and has more praise for your son than he himself is like to hear from my nephew. For my part, when I hate, I let it out, and when I love or like, I am frank,” which was true.

Just then came the old black servant man Cicero, once a slave of James Logan the first, and so named by the master, folks said, because of pride in his fine translation of the ”De Senectute” of Cicero, which Franklin printed.

”Cicero will carry thee out,” said Mrs. Swanwick.

”Will he, indeed?” said Gainor, seeing a shadow of annoyance come over the grave face of the sick woman as she said, ”I can walk,” and rose unsteadily. The pelisse was off, and before the amazed vicomtesse could speak, she was in Gainor's strong arms and laid gently down on a lounge in the outer air.

”_Mon Dieu!_” was all she could say, ”but you are as a man for strength.

Thank you.”

The roses were below her. The cool air came over them from the river, and the violet of the eastward sky reflected the glow of the setting sun. A s.h.i.+p with the tricolor moved up with the flood, a _bonnet rouge_ at the masthead, as was common.

”What flag is that?” asked the vicomtesse. ”And that red thing? I do not see well.”

”I do not know,” said Gainor, calmly fibbing; and seeing her G.o.ddaughter about to speak, she put a finger on her lips and thrust a hand ignorant of its strength in the ribs of the hostess as madame, looking down among the trees on the farther slope, said: ”Who is that? How merry they are!”

”Adam and Eve--in the garden,” replied Gainor.

”For shame!” murmured Mary Swanwick in English. ”It is well she did not understand thee.” Then she added to the vicomtesse: ”It is Margaret, madame, and thy son.”

Again gay laughter came up from the distance; the vicomtesse became thoughtful.

”I have left you lettuce and some fruit,” said Miss Wynne, ”and may I be pardoned for taking the place of Cicero?”

”Ah, madame, kindness in any form is easy to pardon.” Then Gainor went away, while Mrs. Swanwick sat down, saying: ”Now no more talk. Let me fan thee a little.”

The next day being the first Sunday in July, Schmidt said after breakfast: ”De Courval, you said last night that you would like to go to church. It shall be Christ Church, if you like--Episcopal they call it.”

They set out early, and on Delaware Second Street saw the fine old church Dr. Kearsley planned, like the best of Christopher Wren's work, as De Courval at once knew.

”I shall go in. I may not stay,” said Schmidt. ”I do not like churches.

They seem all too small for me. Men should pray to G.o.d out of doors.

Well, it has a certain stately becomingness. It will suit you; but the Druids knew best.”

They found seats near the chancel. Just before the service began, a black servant in livery entered by a side door. A large man, tall and erect, in full black velvet, followed. The servant opened a pew; the tall man sat down, and knelt in prayer; the servant went back to the door, and seated himself on the floor upon a cus.h.i.+on.

Schmidt whispered, ”That is George Was.h.i.+ngton.”